Vanish
by PerProteggere
Summary: She's had enough of the games, the fights, the apologies. He's trying to figure out how all of this happened in the first place. Will they find a solace? E/O. Hard M!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order: SVU or it's characters.**

**A/N: A new fic, and a new outlook on things. Just a FYI, this fic doesn't include Nick Amaro, but it does focus on Elliot and Olivia's relationship through they eyes of many different people, including E/O themselves. S12 based.**

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><p>She's suffocating.<p>

There is no other way around it, no better way to phrase it. She suffocates in his hold for too many reasons, yet not enough. Asphyxiation is a painful way to die, she knows that well.

Her whereabouts at the moment, however, is surrounding the unknown. No one- at least she hopes- is aware she's even left. She doesn't even know where she's going. A one way ticket to California gets her far in mileage, but is it not that far, that she could be sucked back into the life that once, and still is, sucking the life from her body? California is full of smaller cities and the for certain larger ones. Apartments are expensive as hell, but she's got money saved.

She doesn't know how long she's unconsciously been planning this.

Just thinking about leaving the place she's called home her whole life breaks off another piece of the broken shell that has become herself. Her soul. The apartment she abandoned; empty and more dirty than clean. Her mind drifts to the people she left behind, to the people that at one time, she thought of as family. They'll be fine without her, she assumes.

The sweater she's draped over herself isn't helping the fact she's freezing. Even five thousand feet in the air and closer to the sun, she's cold. That's really what her life has become. Chilled to the bone; in more ways than one.

Maybe California has more too offer than just space from New York.

It wasn't the polluted air that had been holding her back, charming her into the black hole that is the city. A lot of the blame falls on herself, a little on others. People she swore she won't seep into her thoughts, but they do. He always does.

_Don't._

_He's not worth it,_ she chides herself mentally, but she knows it isn't true. He mind-fucked her with his mixed signals and the Stockholm's Syndrome he forced her to endure. But she took it all in stride and even enjoyed it, because with each fight was the apology, and with each apology was the inevitable shift between them. They never shifted apart, only closer.

But he's also a large part of why she left.

She almost cracks a smile at the thought. It's sadistic of her, but she wants to see the look on his face when he comes to apologize to her once again, and he opens the door to a vacant apartment.

Her mind has become this way, only because of him. Psychologically, her mother molded her, changed her. But only one person is to blame for the emotional damage that lies within her.

Elliot.

That's partially false. She's got lots of perps to blame, even some of the victim's and their families. The ladder doesn't mean harm, except it began to take a toll, and she ignored it. Her life began to spin in circles and so did her relationships. The other parties didn't seem to be as affected as she was, however.

The plane she's on isn't exactly comfortable. Her feet feel like pins are slowly being driven up inside of them, and her back is knotting and getting more and more painful as the minutes, and hell, even the seconds pass. The man beside her has major body odor issues and continues to look over at Olivia, groan, and look away.

It isn't an ideal way to get somewhere, but at least it's flying over five hundred miles an hour. Five hundred miles farther away from her death. From Elliot, too.

She'll miss him. Even being divorced as he is, he's never going to come after her and some part of her is thankful for that because she needs to have breathing space for once. If he isn't literally in her face, he's in her thoughts. They're toxic for each other in their emotional attachment and dependence. More so, her deep reliance on him that continued to crumble.

In college, she read that psychological dependence is a branch off of addiction. Deep, deep inside of her, each touch that occurred between them fed that addiction. It wasn't sex, surely. The bond between them however, the indescribable relationship, was. Toeing the line between partners, friends, and something so much more, was a rush for her.

It also made her realize just how far she'd gone.

Eventually, they'll have to stop somewhere for fuel, she guesses either in Colorado or Iowa. She would have even considered getting off the plane then, but for the unavoidable actuality that those states are cold in the winter months. California is perfect. She doesn't want to go to Florida and roast herself in the sun. Her body just wants to be warm again.

She doesn't want to feel anything like she felt back in New York.

The jet has been in the air for nearly two hours. People around her are asleep, and even as she's gotten lost in thought, the perverse man beside her has fallen into his slumber. Now that she glances around, occasionally looking out of the small window she leans against, Olivia realizes she may be the only one awake, apart from the crew.

A few rows across from her, an old woman sits with a book in her lap. The position in which the woman is slouched she can't tell if she's sleeping or not, but it gives her a little hope knowing that she's not the only one awake.

That's another way she felt when she was in New York. Alone.

She had coworkers, a few distant friends, Simon, Lucy, and of course Elliot. But they weren't, and could never be the companion she wanted. A lover. A spouse. Someone who supported what she does and maybe even liked her partner.

Her eyes water marginally. She refuses to let herself cry, because what is she really leaving? A life she couldn't take any longer, or running _for_ her life?

Outside of the window, the stars shine brightly in the darkened sky, illuminated by the moon.

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><p>When she first came into the unit, she profiled everyone.<p>

It wasn't really a conscious thought, it just _happened._

Before she even knew these people's names, she had critical thoughts racing through her mind. Skepticism was a big trait she found in all of them. Like their belief in humanity had been so torn to shreds, anything a person said was taken into light consideration. Even victims.

Amanda zips her leather jacket up higher, reaching out with her other hand to slap the elevator. The apartment building she's just entered isn't exactly cold, but it's sheer knowledge that what she's about to witness in any circumstance will not be positive. Yet, she just wants to _make sure._

Benson and Stabler are one of the teams she's seen, but the fighting that's only gotten worse over the last few months is visibly taking a toll on Olivia. She's a hell of a woman, but there's only so much one can take.

SVU has a different feel than she was expecting. Munch often takes the back seat and stays at the precinct with Cragen and lower rank detectives. She can't wrap her head quite wrap her head around that, and how the aging man and Fin ever got to be detectives. They're polar opposites, yet she's heard from Elliot and even Fin himself, that they worked good together.

Then she feels like she was intruding, even though she requested.

Her mind drifts to a series of moments she's witnessed between the two lead detectives caught in the midst of just _watching_ one another. They weren't romantically involved as far as she knew, and as far as she observed, but they could be damn good at hiding it. These days, micro expressions are something police officers can easily control.

Elliot no longer wears a wedding band on his finger.

She tries not to think anything of it. Fin never talks about Elliot and Olivia when they're not around, and Amanda has gathered that her partner thinks of Olivia as more of a sister than a coworker. So to him, an office affair between the two wasn't any of his business.

Not that she's a nosy person, she just wants to know for the sake of the team's safety.

The elevator doors open in front of her. It's a tad dirty and empty, same goes with the foyer behind her, but it doesn't stop her from grazing her fingers along the gun saddled on her hip. Mostly all apartment buildings around Manhattan are nice inside each residence, but the maintenance, especially as late as it is right now, isn't kept up to the high amounts people pay to live there.

Amanda taps the button on the cold elevator to close the doors, and then the fourth floor. It descents upwards and she wishes she could lean against the wall and pretend everything within this unit isn't fucked up, but she can't. There's a driving need within her to fix the five others she works close with. She doesn't want to change them, just help them move away from an ending that may come too soon, in her mind.

To her, these people are her family now.

The elevator shaft creaks and groans before landing on her destined floor. This doesn't scare her, anymore. She's used to being in an elevator almost as much as a car. Quantico had elevators in every sky high building on the base. APD had elevators. Even now, the Sixteenth Precinct has elevators.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't just opt for the stairs some mornings, though. Passing down an extra bit of exercise was never her forte, because there was always a fear within her that she wouldn't be fast enough to catch a perp, or even sprint for her life.

When the metal doors separate, Amanda's heart jumps into her throat.

The fight between Olivia and her partner two days ago was bad, even for them. It wasn't the yelling, because the blonde knew that well. The subject line, however, was. Truth of the matter was, Elliot was fighting Olivia to get her to understand that he was in fact _right. _Elliot was just trying to make Olivia believe, make her comprehend that she simply cannot keep putting herself on the line not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.

Thing is, he's correct.

It had everything and nothing to do with the case.

They all had a day off, and Amanda hoped to hell it would be enough time for them to reconcile. But Olivia never showed for work today, and it was so uncharacteristic of her that as soon as she laid eyes on Elliot, it clicked in her head. They'd all been off today. As soon as Cragen let them go at five pm after an uneventful day of paperwork and silence, Elliot shot out of his seat and out the doors.

Almost as fast as Amanda.

She has to stop when she gets off the elevator to dig her phone, which contains the text from Fin telling her which apartment Olivia resides in.

_4E._

Before she can muster up a half-ass speech to the woman behind the door, she finds herself right in front of it. Her cellphone is back in her jacket pocket now, but as her eyes drift up the door, she thinks she might need it to call 911.

The door is ajar, and the air around it is eerily cold. She would call out, ask if anyone was there, if the breath wasn't caught in her throat. Something isn't right. Her curiosity gets the best of her and she pushes the door back, bringing Olivia's apartment into her view.

In her heart, she knew _something_ would happen. But as she steps into the dark, cold, and empty apartment, it sinks into her mind that this something _has_ happened. She wasn't aware that Olivia was even thinking about moving out of her place, and judging by the look on Elliot's face all day, there was a little more than just a new home going on in their lives.

Amanda's steps are measured. She feels like she's intruding, like the pale yellow walls are yelling back at her to get out of the senior detective's home. The kitchen and living room solidifies her in this spot, however. Her brain is playing tricks on her, showing silhouettes of Olivia sitting on a couch where the scratches and dust now mar the floor, with her head in her hands, the shoulder's of the brave woman shaking slightly.

She blinks out of the hallucination when the door she'd just come through creaks, followed by two feet coming to a cold stop. The police officer in her automatically turns, drawing her service weapon halfway before her eyes catch up with her body's movement.

The man in front of her is barely aware she's even there. He stares out at the walls, taking in the emptiness of the room.

"Stabler," Amanda croaks, re-holstering her gun.

His eyes scathe over her, nearly missing her once again. She's known the man for not even a year, and it's not enough time to know how he reacts to a situation that leaves such a desperate, heartbroken look on his face.

Her first reaction is currently controlling her body, shifting her feet backwards one small step at a time. Elliot walks, but stumbles almost, grasping onto the kitchen counter for support. His chest doesn't expand or collapse, it's just _frozen._

Amanda barely makes out his words. "She left..." he looks around the room again, then shuts his eyes tightly. "Again." She observes him and retraces her steps, all the while, hoping Olivia's sudden move has just been a misunderstanding.

But she thinks they both know, it isn't.

**A/N: ?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order SVU or its characters.**

**A/N: I'm back with another update. Still love me?**

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><p>People always told her to take one step at a time. <em>Why not two? <em>Why couldn't she jump, and become everything she wanted to and everything people expected her to be?

Now that the thought is drifting through her mind, she wonders if she ever had a goal in any aspect of her life. College, the Academy, SVU. Was it really a goal for herself, or was it a psychological way of rebelling against her mother, maybe even her father.

It's been a week since she arrived in California. An ad looking for an apartment that she'd placed in her now local paper prior to her sudden switch of residence had gotten a few calls. The second day of being in the West Coast area, Olivia explored the real estate side of California.

The housing is expensive, she'll admit it. But the length of time she'll be there before someone finds her, especially Elliot, is limited.

Maybe part of her wants to get caught. _'Cause Christ, _she's yearning to see the hurt on his face.

When she packed and shipped her bags out to California, she was so sure.

Now, all she sees is the red hot anger behind her eyelids. For every fight and half-ass apology Olivia's emotions heightened. She's just _so angry._ At herself, at Elliot, at the job, and the deep addiction she has to it. It makes her want to scream sometimes. The feeling is one she hasn't felt since she was a teen, but it's still there, still registering in her system. _Scream, Olivia, scream!_

She's so all over the place, even when she thought this would be a time of such absolution in her life that she would just be stable for once. He invades every one of her thoughts.

_Of course._

Sarcasm is thick and it resonate in her mind these days.

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><p>His couch is now in her living room.<p>

The air in Olivia's apartment is suffocating. It is so thick with the scent of her but in his own way, he loves the way his lungs burn ever so slightly because it literally pains him to be here.

He'd paid the building manager for the month three days ago. It's not something he wants to think about too hard. Because all of this is too fucked up and wrong for him to truly comprehend. Exhaustion has overruled his bitterness. The wounds are still fresh, but every time Amanda offers her support he pushes her away.

"_Women will kill you,"_ Elliot's father had once said to him, in one of his drunken stupors. Fresh off a case with a bottle of Jack in front of him, Joe Stabler gave his son of only fourteen some advice. Something he always brushed off because even then, he knew better than to believe a damn thing the man said when he's got alcohol in his system.

But now, he believes it. Truth be told, death seems like a god-send. He'd be free from his pain and Olivia's unbreakable hold on him, which have begun to meld together. She is the pain and something else he feels for her, that he cannot quite label yet.

It's always in darkest of the night that he thinks about her. _Really_ thinks. Usually, he thinks about what her lips would feel like on his, on other parts of his body. Sometimes he lets himself get wrapped in the fantasy, and fists his cock, imaging her, just her, for once...

But tonight he can't. The thought of her has him half hard, which is aside from the point. She's somewhere out there. He hopes she's still in New York.

He nearly trashed her apartment looking for some sort of clue, and he came across a box in her hallway closet, placed perfectly in the middle of the emptiness. For a few minutes, he pretended as if he didn't see it. The whisper of her was in his ear, telling him to open it, however.

She left him a box of some of her belongings. It was a fucking mockery. Wherever she is, she's probably laughing at his pathetic outlook now. The shoe box, black and plain with a simple bar code and picture of stilettos on the side, sits on the opposite end of the couch. With the lid tucked underneath, he can see a peek at the contents inside that he'd previously ravaged.

He can see the shiny, gold badge lying among a few nick-knacks. It's the last thing that ties him to Olivia, and it's sitting in front of him, looking more grungy from all the times she's showed it to people or dropped it to the ground. His eyes burn and his throat is tight. He refuses it all.

He wants to feel nothing.

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><p>He and sleep are not on speaking terms.<p>

There's an urgency within him that's whispering in his ear, telling him he needs to save her. From what exactly, he doesn't know. It's always been there, ever since they met; but he's not sure that his subconscious is aware that being with her means saving her.

Because sometimes he thinks she's so much better off without him holding her back. It makes his throat hurt. For the longest time, it was just her and his children that were his reason for waking up in the morning. But that was when she allowed it to be that way, and now she's made a choice.

He pushed her to make that choice.

_You need to stop putting the victims before yourself, or you're gonna end up burnt out or gone, _he'd told her.

He's an asshole. Repeatedly he'd push her beyond any human's abilities within the unit. Most of all, he treated her like shit. They argued over cases and he was always the one to get personal, to blame her lack of mothering a child for them not being on the same page.

The cellphone in his hand feels like acid. She's probably gotten a new number, but he just wants contact.

_The victims need me,_ Olivia had returned quietly.

It just solidified his worry for her. She was in too deep, drowning in the stories, the processes, the overall guilt. The job held her in its grip and didn't let go until he intervened. She's saved from herself, but he wants her back.

_Needs her back._

He finds himself rising from the couch, his usually confident demeanor now lacking and uncoordinated. His shoulders are slumped and sore from sitting on the couch for so long.

There are shadows on the walls of her bedroom. Just a small row of them, from where a handful of pictures once were. He'd once been in here when some lunatic broke in and the struggle led into this room, but before and after that, he avoided it like the plague.

It was all too much temptation.

Before, her bed was against the west wall, and all the pictures on the south wall, closest to her. He imagined her laying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling in thought, and letting her eyes wander over to the framed picture of them. At one point, it was all he daydreamed about. Just watching the emotions run over Olivia's face and trying to decipher her thoughts while she looked at their picture.

It wasn't his intention to stare at the picture when he first saw it last year. But the sentiment struck him deeply. Olivia pretended not to notice his obvious surprise, stuttering out a sentence about being tired and he took it as his cue to leave. The sun had shone from the opposite window and tinged the wall behind the photo a different color, just like his heart. It altered that day.

She altered him.

The picture itself was one of his least favorites. Her bangs were cut short but fell heavily in front of her eyes, and when she would actually look at him through the strands, she appeared so wanton to him.

When Munch brought out the camera, it was just a few days after she returned from working with Porter in Oregon. Things were awkward, and nothing if not tense. They'd managed to smile and whether it was photoshop or a miracle, they looked good.

He turns on his heels to the left, shaking off his dizziness. He's well aware that Olivia has her secrets and he wants to know what really sent her away. Tonight he is determined to find and scrape off evidence that will lead him to her, as they did with all the victims, perps, and witnesses.

The beige room is completely empty, bland, plain. It probably served homage to her, working all day and night, to be able to come home to something that was innocent and right. A bed. He could have given her a hell of a lot more if he would stop-

Beneath him, the floorboards creak. Elliot remembers her telling him that her floors were being replaced not six months ago. It doesn't add up. He gets onto his hands and knees in his partner's apartment, and presses the palm of his hands to the wood floor.

A single panel voices its disapproval. His eyes narrow in on the slightly risen piece, and before he can think about it for a second longer, his short nails ache in their effort to reef the board from its place without destroying it. Gradually, he wiggles it enough to see a glimpse of what's underneath.

Something colorful lies beneath. He's getting increasing anxious as to what it might be. She's hidden this from herself, and that fact alone scares him. The floorboard's complaints sound throughout the room, and he is on the edge of losing his mind. It finally cracks and with urgency, he sets it down beside himself and lays eyes on a small diary with a single piece of paper sticking out from the side.

"Fuck," he whispers, taking out the slip of paper. He unfolds it and reads the words, but they don't make sense. They're not English, to him. Her scrawl is perfect, simple. But it all starts to blur.

_Amanda,_

_Here's my new address. _

_54278 Orangewood Ave, APT 3B Anaheim, Orange, California 92802. _

_Best of luck to you. Take care of the boys, would you? _

_-Liv._

The breath leaves his lungs jaggedly. California. The bile rises in his throat but he refuses to show his weakness for her in her apartment. That's what this place will always be, no matter where she lives now.

_Her apartment._

He's somber in his movement as he picks up the last item from its hiding spot. The diary is covered in glittery, small, plastic flowers. Flecks of paper peek out from the its binding rings, and he can see her as a girl, ripping pages out of the book, trying to write down the correct words to express herself.

It's an invasion of privacy, it really is. He's a desperate man, however.

The inside cover is marred with drawings and scribbles, but the rest of it jumps out at him.

_September 5th, 1977._

_Have you ever wanted to vanish?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order: SVU or its characters.  
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**A/N: Shout out to my girl Lauren #2, for editing this mess. **

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><p>The picture he paints in his mind of Olivia as a child breaks his heart. She's thoughtful, yet so haunted by the consuming unknown with her life.<p>

Breathing is a privilege, and right now, his lungs have revoked that right.

The small book quivers in his hands as he sits back, leaning on the wall for support. Elliot's legs have long ago gone numb from being in such an isolated position. He sighs into the musky, old air, but his lungs still feel constricted.

He continues his reading, never fully comprehending that this was his partner, many, many years ago.

_She never tells me much about her life. I don't know who she talks to on the phone, or where she goes late at night. To be honest, I'm too scared to ask. But tonight she stayed in and got out the booze before calling up one of her drinking buddies. Maybe the person on the other end wasn't drunk. Like I said, I don't know. The person just listened to her rant._

_Serena changes from her work facade to her real self at home, and it scares me. _

_I guess she thought I was asleep in my bedroom, because she started talking about stuff. Bad stuff. Things I'm not really sure of the meaning. _

_Then she started talking about my bio... biological father? I think that's how you spell it. She said he ruined her life, and that I did too. It didn't come as a big surprise; she'd said that before to me. But then she said these words, and the pieces started to fit together. _

"_He raped me, Janice. And now I've got Olivia."_

_Do you think if I disappeared she would really care?_

Olivia's scroll gets too messy then, and the rest of the page is just scribbles and wrinkled paper from her teardrops. He'd always felt a guilt within him that was unexplainable because of her past. She'd get that pissed off look on her face if he ever told her that, he knows.

Then again, Olivia always was one to surprise the hell out of him in everything she did. Yet, their song and dance was always too familiar, too repetitive.

_Oliver, after her father._

Over the years he's disgusted himself with the fucked up lies that have spewed from his lips.

He'd trapped himself, never being fully able to say what they both needed to hear. Instead, it all bubbled up until they fought, and all the anger inside of him boiled over – onto her. Because of her.

He blames her for everything and nothing at the same time.

If every aspect of her wasn't so brutally addicting, he wouldn't become so guarding of her. He wouldn't feel so compelled to protect her, even though she had always been fully capable of doing that herself. Because if he were being honest, he needs her.

He needs that push and pull of their relationship. He craves each argument, each flirty conversation – because it feeds that fire within them. They've gotten to the point where they were so in over their heads that they couldn't see the lines anymore. The boundaries were gone.

The second he felt them lift he could have had her. Instead, he pushed her away.

While he fills with guilt and remorse, Olivia's door opens.

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><p>She'd always had a respect for Olivia she couldn't quite put her finger on.<p>

It wasn't as though she had romantic feelings for the woman – Olivia wasn't exactly her type.

The respect was something so much larger than that. Amanda closes the apartment door as soundlessly as she can, but it seems to echo off the walls. It penetrates the silence within all the rooms. She wonders if Olivia used to make it in here quietly.

Elliot remains within one of these rooms. She's started checking in on him more periodically, because she's not like Olivia. She cannot make a distinction between each of his emotions. It limits how much Amanda can assist him, but it's all so necessary.

She's frightened that he will stop breathing and not even notice. He is frozen within Olivia's grasp. She's suffocating him silently, without thought, without even being there in the flesh. On the inside, Amanda has become so very aware of the proximity in which Elliot and Olivia held each other.

At a dangerous level.

The coffee tray in her hand shakes with each measured step she takes towards Olivia's bedroom. She knows he's here; she can hear rustling of paper, a shaky sigh, his feet scraping along the floor.

There's always a sickening hush between her and Elliot. It's the pain that steals his words and it's her unspoken truth. A simple letter binds her tightly with Olivia and creates distance with Elliot.

There's a certain level of comfort in the silence between the two of them that she doesn't deserve. It's unlike Elliot and Olivia's, she's well aware. She'll never have with either of them what they have with each other. Because even now, when she pictures the two of them reuniting, all she hears is silence and palpating hearts.

In front of her is a miserable, self-destructing man who admittedly hasn't seen his children - in exception to his eldest child – for days. Her guilt keeps her here, looking at his somber face instead of an angry, hopeful one. If she spoke the truth, told him all of the things Olivia wishes he would never find out until she is ready, Amanda doesn't really know what he would be like.

This alone alarms her.

Elliot finally looks up at her. She expected the depression within his features, but not anger. Her breathing begins to deregulate and the panic courses through her veins. They haven't had a heavy caseload as of late, and it leaves all the more time for him to figure out what's really going on.

The letter Olivia had left in Amanda's desk is burned into her mind. Each line, each dotted "I" and crossed "T" that made her eyes water.

_Don't show him this, no matter what you do, Amanda._

She pulls one of the cups from the tray and holds it out for him to grab, but his scowl only deepens. He takes it however, and replaces it with a simple piece of paper. It makes a slapping sound as it connects with her hand. He is no longer kind with her.

It's the familiar scrawl on the paper that catches her attention. When she looks down it's all she can do to not let her chin tremble, to not let the lump in the back of her throat take over and send a rush of tears to her eyes. Somewhere in these past weeks, Amanda has promised that she'll never let him see her break down. He needs stability.

The address on the note is incorrect. Although it is addressed to her, this isn't the real note. But Olivia knew that he would cling to this information. What she didn't know, was that his anger would bubble too. Since it was addressed to her, all of his anger was about to be directed _at her._

"Why..." his voice cracks and dies out before he can get a second word in. She's used to his silence, now.

Amanda crosses her feet and sits on the floor, two feet in front of him. He leans against the wall heavily, his coffee sitting beside him. She says nothing, watching him fidget with the small book in his lap.

Elliot stares back, expecting something. Anything.

He asks a lot of her these days without even voicing it.

"What's your best memory with her?"

A small burst of laughter escapes from his lips. She's shocked; the sound of it being so foreign to her now. His eyes crinkle as she stares in awe, not of his looks, but of the way Olivia is thousands of miles away, and still releases a part of him he tries desperately to keep under wraps. His head raises from the supporting wall behind him and he stares at her with a sliver of respect.

He takes in a deep breath, and for the first time in nearly sixteen days, he speaks fluidly. "There's one night that stands out more than the rest," Elliot whispers, dropping his head back to the wall again. "We sat on my stoop for a few minutes while I tried to convince her that the job is good... That it's right."

His breathing gets a little shaky. She doesn't push, just lets him work it out of his system. A tear slides from the corner of his eye and he doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't seem to care, because he's trapped within this memory.

"She thought she messed everything up by putting Michael Gardener in jail. But she didn't. She looked perfect then, too." It's now that he cracks, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hugs himself, burying his head in the rough fabric of his dirty and faded jeans. The soft sobs that escape him are haunting. She'll remember this moment with him for a long time to come, just like the contents of Olivia's real letter.

She leans against the same wall he is now. Her arm stretches out as she cups his head with her right hand and pulls him into her. She's reckless in her want to comfort whatever he's feeling. In a way, she's feeding this pain and worsening it. His sobs rack through them both, and with his head on her shoulder, she lets the words come to the surface.

_Amanda, _

_Usually, there's a time and a place for everything. But right now, there isn't. It's you I trust with this because Fin's too honest, and Munch couldn't handle a heart attack. And Elliot..._

_Don't show him this, no matter what you do._

_Attached on the back of this is a slip of paper. Write the address down somewhere and get rid of it. Burn it if you have to, it doesn't matter. Just make sure he won't find it. _

_I know you've got questions, and I'm sorry I can't answer them right now. This is just easier. I need you to do one more thing for me._

_Take care of Elliot._

_I don't know what he's like without me, but I know him in a lot of other situations, and you have to ease his self-implosion. He's not an easy man to talk to, but give it your best shot. Maureen knows what's going on and she'll visit, but in between those times, you need to be there._

_Best regards,_

_Olivia._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order: SVU or its characters. **

**A/N:_ Somewhere far along this road he lost his soul, to a woman so heartless._**

* * *

><p>Women were never his strong suit. He'd fucked up too many relationships in the past – even with his children.<p>

With Olivia, he promised himself he would do her no harm. Yet here he sits with another woman, another companionship he'll destroy somehow. He can just imagine the hidden jealousy within his partner's eyes, seeing him suffering in silence with someone other than herself.

Yet the relationship that is his greatest success and his worst failure lies with her.

Amanda sits across from him on the couch. With a New York Times in hand, she breathes almost silently, and never once does she sigh like Olivia used to. He doesn't bother to look up when she checks on him now. There was an unspoken agreement between the blonde and his partner, that once Olivia left, Amanda would check on his self-piteous ass every once and a while.

He's become Rollins' charity case. She's never done anything without putting in her fullest effort.

Elliot scratches at the stubble on his face. In all honesty he can't remember the last time he even looked at a razor, nor does he feel the desire to. The questions build within him as he scrapes his hand down his chin. Is she begin paid? When this smoothes over, if it ever does, will she stick around?

The days weigh heavily on him yet he still remains determined.

"How much contact do you have with her?" he finally murmurs, cutting the silence with his weakened voice. All he wants now is something that connects him to her again. The diary in his lap leads him to the Olivia in the past. He wants the present Olivia. He wants answers. He wants anything.

Anything that will differentiate from his pain.

"Elliot-"

"Don't feed me bullshit, Rollins." He's tired of it; tired of being kind to someone he knows is feeding him lies to prevent him from seeing Olivia again. He knows.

He just knows.

* * *

><p><em>Her heart is pounding.<em>

_It's her first coherent thought here. She knows she's dreaming, that her imagination isn't always on her side. The cold wind whips at her exposed skin, but she's inside of a dark room. It's more of a warehouse, now that her eyes are becoming used to the lack of light._

_He is near._

_The prickle of her skin gives it away. Ahead of her, overhead lights flash on as he walks with purpose. The lights seem endless. She glances down and sees the pathway in which he's following. Rows of cages surround her. It's an all too familiar feeling; being caged. _

_She's no longer standing but now in a chair, hard and wooden beneath her. He looms over her with an expression on his face that is one of pure evil. "This is the man you've created, Olivia." the man hisses at her, inching closer with every shaky breath she intakes and exhales. _

_Tears spring in her eyes and she forces herself to look away from him and into the dark nothingness just beyond his muscled shoulders. _

_"I never did a damn thing to you," she spits back, fighting the urge to crawl into his arms and apologize until he believes her. He had a hand in this as well, she thinks. It wasn't just her fault. "You did this to yourself. To me."_

_The lights go out then, and all she has to hang onto is his hot breath travelling into her ear. She grips the chair tighter and it brings her back to Merrit Rook strapping her to a chair inside of his old studio. To this day she doesn't know what Elliot went through to get her out, and the answer will probably aid her insomnia._

_It kills her, knowing his hatred is directed at her now. _

_"El," she pleads, but does not beg. She refuses to let him have that hold over her. Against her cheek, Olivia swears she can feel and hear him smirking. It's so expected of him. His closeness makes her heart jump erratically, and as much as she tries to manipulate it, she cannot control the way it palitates for Elliot. He is her reason for the disappearing act she's pulled. He's also the reason she aches to go back to not breathing because she's within his proximity once again._

_"I'm inside of you. No matter where you run and hide, I'll always be with you, Olivia." _

It's the last thing she hears before she's startled awake by her alarm clock. A new day, a new job, a new life. Once she moved here, she became a realist. She can't free load, at least not with the price of rent and living in California generally.

She does it all for the split second that she forgets about him, yet he returns in her dreams. These past few nights he's been getting more agressive, even mad at her to the point where he screams in her face.

She deserves it all.

When she first left she felt no remorse for leaving, but now it all hits her. His wife had left just a year earlier, and now Olivia has vanished into the night. She scrubs a hand down her face in a febble attempt to rid herself of some guilt, but it weighs her down now.

Her conscience is a heavy pressure. The bones in her limbs feel brittle from the sleep – or maybe it was the nightmare - her muscles non-existent. But she maneuvers herself into a fetal position and for the first time since she's arrived in sunny California, she cries.

It's the single tear that slides from the corner of Olivia's eye as she stares out at the beautiful day outside that makes her come to the realization that maybe she's the one at fault. Maybe she was the one who pushed too hard. Maybe she was the one who didn't leave enough space between them before it got to be too late.

_Don't you get it, Elliot? This job is all I've got. You've got your kids, so yeah, you don't have to give everything you've got to the job because you have something to go home to. I don't, _she had yelled at him, just moments before he'd said something that made her go quiet.

The skin around her wrists itch like they had in the days following being strapped to a falsely-wired chair by Merrit Rook. She never let herself be affected by it, how when Elliot admitted he couldn't push the button, the nightmares disappeared. Her fingernails scrape across the flesh and it feels like she's getting her fix. Each time a memory surfaces with him, that rush flows through her.

She loves it.

She hates it.

Another tear slides down her cheeks and she wonders how he's holding up. He's probably happy, a little reckless, and doesn't give Amanda the respect she deserves for putting up with him at her request. If he's found the fake note she left for him, then he's making his way through her old diary.

Maybe now, he'll understand her a bit more.

Maybe he'll come to recognize he is her biggest weakness. They are a beautiful tragedy. His voice visits her in the darkest part of the night, and he doesn't leave until the sun has risen and her eyes have fluttered open. The time in between is usually spent with her filling herself with other things that demand her attention.

Her heart begs for the distraction.

It's almost an unconscious thought for Olivia to hoist herself up to sit with her feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Outside of her double-pane window, life goes on. The sun shines brightly as a reminder that every day in which it caresses her skin and makes it become darker, it will never feel the same as his rare touch.

It all makes her ponder if he's gotten to her breaking point within her diary. The six years have flown by since then. She can recall it word for word, and while she stands, the entry runs through her mind.

_April 7th, 2006._

_I have come back to my childhood dream of running off and starting fresh. Somewhere in which the water is blue, instead of the red I see here. I'd let my hair grow out and I'd be free of the ties I feel weigh me down. _

_I asked for a new partner today. _

_My lungs still feel frozen. A near carotid artery is nothing compared to the words that were passed through his lips and mine today. In all honesty, I never thought it would come down to this._

_I know he says things he would never say if he wasn't filled with blind rage or remorse. Today... The line was crossed. I held it together and went home. Neither of us bothered with a phone call because hell, he just expects me to be there in the morning. _

_But I won't be. It's scary thinking of a day without having Elliot by my side. He'll be fine without me, though._

_Today I'm vanishing. Tomorrow he'll be okay. _

Olivia stills in front of her bed. In the midst of all the pages of her diary running through her mind, it's the illuminated screen of her iPhone that captures her attention.

She should just ignore it and go on with her daily routine. Her new boss is easy going, and maybe that's the way all civilians out here have become due to the utopia the weather has created. Perhaps one day she'll be hanging loose, too.

It's her conscience eating away at her that leads her to step towards her nightstand, towards the still glowing device. Her hands grow clammy in her worry. She wishes she could deny all of her emotions.

On the screen, Amanda's name is bold, staring up at her, mocking her. Only four words are written beneath.

_He knows. I'm sorry. _


End file.
